


High Strung

by viceprincipalpanch



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fighting Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceprincipalpanch/pseuds/viceprincipalpanch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little visit to a certain stringmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Strung

**Author's Note:**

> takes place just after hannibal asks about the harpsichord strings, before the cut to will's house. hehe. for my friend julia (moonmolt). hehehe.

There is a tense moment, thrumming with the vibrato of a sustained note-between-notes on a violin, before Hannibal steps forward and grabs him by the neck. Nails, neat and tidy and kept short for comfort as well as cleanliness’ sake, dig crescent moons into Tobias’s skin as he pulls him close. Lips meet — his own pull back enough that their teeth clash together — and part in a matter of moments. No words are exchanged.

Tobias grabs  _him_  next, just as rough but with much more raw energy than Hannibal had expressed. His hand closes around his wrist, squeezes, hard enough that pain shoots up his forearm and for a moment he’s not sure if Tobias appreciated his forwardness. When Hannibal finds himself being dragged towards the door to the next room, he realizes it’s quite the opposite and can’t help the smirk that creeps onto his face.

When he’s slammed up against the wall hard enough that the breath is forced from his chest, he manages a wheezy chuckle. Tobias clearly doesn’t find their situation funny, jerking the knot of Hannibal’s tie loose from his neck with one hand while the other grips his shoulder so tightly he knows there will already be bruises blooming purple under his skin. That’s fine, Hannibal understands that he must have tension to release, and the feeling of being handled so roughly excites him. Normally he is treated like a precision instrument, very useful but to be used with extreme care, for fear it might become unbalanced. He grins at the thought. Tobias himself could be described the same way, and obviously, Hannibal has not used him very responsibly in the few minutes they’ve really known each other.

Hannibal isn’t surprised when each button of his shirt is torn from its hole until it hangs open beneath his suit jacket, and is even less surprised when Tobias ducks down to close his mouth on the straining muscle in his neck. His smile softens, his knees loosen, and he leans heavily against the wall. Teeth graze his skin. A sigh drips out of his mouth before the gentle scrape turns into a hard bite, and the sigh turns into a gasp. That’s _good_ , but he can’t let him get the wrong idea; a gesture like that is a show of dominance, which Tobias most definitely will not have. He manages to jab him in the stomach.

He crumples in on himself, clutching his abdomen while Hannibal watches. His knee comes up and connects with his chin, hard enough to make Tobias see stars but not do any real damage. He stumbles backwards, into his desk, and tries to catch his breath. Hannibal follows. His hand ghosts over the top of Tobias’s head, back to the nape of his neck so he can pull him up straight and give him another kiss. This one is much more controlled, designed to leave him wanting so he might pursue him again. He wants to see just how far Tobias can be drawn out of his shell, what kind of instabilities he’s hiding beneath his icy demeanour.

A hand, rough and calloused from dedication to a fine instrument, closes around his neck and gives it a squeeze. Hannibal groans quietly, placing his own palm against Tobias’s chest.

When Tobias lets go, he stares him down, dark eyes examining every inch of Hannibal’s face for something,  _anything_ , more than just amusement. When he finds nothing, he grabs hold of him again and initiates his own kiss. His tongue presses against Hannibal’s lips in hopes that they might open and allow it to slip in, to taste him. Hannibal refuses, mouth shut tight, and instead presses against him harder in response. He grabs his hips, tugs Tobias close, and grips him where he can feel the bone under his skin, aiming to make him ache and whine.

They kiss with gnashing teeth, with desperate breaths, with thrusts and gropes and bites, until finally they pull away breathless and face each other. Hannibal doesn’t say anything, just grabs Tobias by the shoulders instead and turns them around, forcing _him_  against the wall. He unties his tie with deft hands, letting it fall to the floor and making sure to step on it. He grinds his toe against the silk, then moves to the buttons of his vest. One by one by one they open and the fabric spreads apart; he repeats the movements down his shirt. They still haven’t said a word, though occasionally Tobias looks like he wants to pipe up. Whenever he does, Hannibal leans in and bites him hard, on the neck, on the shoulder, on the collarbone, wherever there is skin that he can reach and somewhere he can hurt him. He isn’t bleeding yet, but Hannibal is sure he could fix that. Hannibal pulls Tobias’s jacket, vest, and shirt down and off his arms, leaving him shirtless. He kneels in front of him, lips spreading in a smirk.

He will not allow Tobias to touch his head or his face gently, but  _does_  allow him to grab and jerk him to and fro. Tobias could easily snap his neck if he wanted to, but Hannibal doesn’t even tremble as he unzips his pants. His thin fingers pull Tobias’s cock into the open air, not concerned in the slightest that the cotton of his underwear might chafe against him or that the zipper of his fly might score his skin. He gives him one slow lick, from the ridge of the head to the very tip, before he takes him in his mouth.

Hannibal mouths him at first, letting him relax just enough that when he lets his teeth sink down the slightest bit, it shocks him and makes him clench his fingers in Hannibal’s hair. It’s a satisfying reaction, one he hopes to elicit again and again as he keeps working. His tongue is flat against the underside, eyes closed with one hand against Tobias’s flat stomach.

Every time Tobias starts to relax, he is right there to give him a nip, or drag his teeth along his shaft while he bobs, or dig his nails deep in the skin above his prick. Every time Tobias tightens his grip on his head, he works harder, pulls him in deeper, lavishes him with attention. This is what he wants, to see how far he can drive him over the edge; every movement is deliberate, given his full attention. Tobias groans, and he pulls back to stare up at him. Slowly, his hand wraps around his cock and moves back and forth, back and forth, agonizingly slow.

Neither of them think too much of Hannibal being fully dressed, though his pants are starting to grow tight in the groin. It seems natural for him to sit there on the heels of his well-shined shoes, the knees of his pants growing dirty and worn as he rocks with Tobias’s thrusts. The only problem he can foresee is if Tobias tries to finish anywhere but in his mouth, so he lets him back in after giving the head a tart, curt kiss.

Tobias is breathing heavily now, his eyes scrunched shut as he tries to concentrate, to not just let loose. Hannibal can tell he is trying to be the better man, and he appreciates the effort. However, both of them know that he’s fighting a losing battle. When he finally lets out a moan, it’s half-muffled by his own lips, which he tries to keep pressed together to prevent the sound from escaping. Hannibal almost  _laughs_ , but manages to keep quiet when he drags his tongue from base to tip before taking him back in. Shaky little gasps come next, and trembling hands and nervous foot-tapping, all of them merely stress leaving his body. He has been bottling up for so long that Hannibal is more than pleased with the results— he’s ecstatic.

Hannibal pulls away, lidded eyes still managing to cut straight into Tobias’s core and leave him bleeding. “You may come now, if you wish.”

When he’s finished, Hannibal stands. He chuckles, wipes cum from his cheek, and kisses Tobias so he can taste himself. There’s some on his shoulder, on his jacket, but he has no reason to worry about it now. He leaves his card on the corner of Tobias’s desk, though he knows it’s not necessary, and looks at him over his shoulder. The bruises on Hannibal’s cheeks are bright and fresh, fingerprints visible along the sides of his face. “Please do not hesitate to call me.”

Tobias picks up the card when Hannibal is gone, and notices that the card says nothing of his profession. Only his name, and what he assumes is his personal line. He takes a deep breath and tucks the card into his pocket.


End file.
